


Can't Stay Away

by mommymuffin



Series: Breathe Me [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison Argent & Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Awesome Cora, Blind Stiles, Bows & Arrows, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Derek's Alpha Form, Emissaries, Gun Violence, Guns, Hospitals, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mutilation, Soul Bond, Stiles Uses A Baseball Bat, Teamwork, The Bank - Freeform, The Jeep - Freeform, There is so much shit happening like for real, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:58:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mommymuffin/pseuds/mommymuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's really quite simple, Derek," Deucalion drawls. "You pick one to kill tonight, you kill the rest later, you become part of my pack."</p><p>"And if I refuse?" Derek growls.</p><p>"We'll kill one of them anyway."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, can you believe we're on Part 12??? I can't. No, really. I can't. What is my life.
> 
> Anywho! Sorry for the long wait! A very dear friend of mine got married last weekend and as I was part of the wedding party, I was quite busy! But here it is! The first chapter of...of...I have no freaking idea how many chapters this one will be or what I'm doing at all actually. Ha ha ha! Ha...Oh, god...

It's quiet and dark outside the dilapidated building. Inside his Jeep Stiles is tapping his hands on the steering wheel in a rhythmless tune. Waiting.

Derek and Scott went into the bank about five minutes ago. No one has come back out.

Stiles is starting to get antsy. He doesn't do well with waiting. It is 100% not his forte. He's about to drive the Jeep through the wall, just so he can relieve some of his anxious boredom. Or maybe just for old time's sake.

He's actually seriously starting to contemplate it, when he hears a series of gunshots echoing down the long alleyway.

Stiles' head snaps in the direction of the bank's rear doors. Wide-eyed, he stares down the alley and already he knows that everything is going terribly wrong even though he can't see anything down the dark corridor.

There's only one person that could have been and with a grim determination, Stiles pops the driver's door open and mutters to himself.

"Chris."

 

The big Alpha is mainly brawn, but he moves fast enough that Chris has already emptied two whole clips without hitting him once. Chris expected this and is thankful he had the foresight to not waste any wolf's bane bullets in his first round of ammunition. Ennis may be quick, but so is the hunter, his speed earned through years of training and experience rather than a gift stolen from others. Argent is slipping both handguns into their holsters on his thighs and swapping them for an electric baton from under his jacket in the same swift movement. Ducking and swinging around, Chris sidesteps Ennis as he charges again and jams the baton into the back of his neck.

The Alpha stumbles, but he doesn't go down. His sheer amount of power is horrifying. But then, Chris supposes, that's what happens when you gain power by sacrificing your entire pack in cold-blooded murder.

Chris preps himself for the next attack, crouched and coiled for action. But Ennis doesn't get so far as standing before Isaac is rushing past Chris to take a flying leap onto the other werewolf's back.

Ennis snarls horribly as Isaac digs his claws in deep. An arm comes up to reach behind him and Isaac isn't fast enough to get out of the way. Ennis grabs him by the collar and flings him down the alleyway. Isaac lands with a loud, painful smack on the hard pavement.

Chris had taken the opportunity Isaac provided him to reload and is pulling his guns up to aim at Ennis, when an arrow sticks in the Alpha's neck. Argent looks up to see his daughter at the edge of the rooftop, long bow steady in her grip.

Ennis gurgles and falls to his knees. He rips the arrow out and breathes in heaving wet gasps. He'll recover.

But Chris' attention is cast back on the rooftop, on Allison, where a massive figure is looming behind her.

He yells to warn her.

"Allison!"

 

Allison barely dives to the side in time to avoid a heavy blow delivered by a monstrosity the likes of which she's never seen before. The ledge of the roof crumbles under its assault as she rolls away to pop up in a kneeling position, arrow already drawn across her bow. Her eyes flare wide in alarm when she gets a proper look at the hulking creature before her. With a forced calm she remembers that the twins are able to transform into one werewolf. "Frankenstein" Isaac had called it. The visible seams of flesh in its face and the unnaturally massive body she's staring at certainly remind her of Frankenstein's monster. The Alpha twins must be what she's looking at.

The huntress doesn't hesitate to loose the arrow. It lands squarely in the creature's chest. The werewolf doesn't even flinch, the arrow hardly breaching its thick hide.

Yanking the arrow out, it advances on her and Allison takes careful, measured steps backwards, firing off arrow after arrow until her heel hits the ledge signaling the end of the rooftop. She has nowhere left to run.

The hybrid hasn't slowed down at all. It's mere steps from her, too close to properly shoot a long-range weapon at. There's a crossbow, tucked beside her quiver, but Allison doesn't think she'll have time to get to it, get it open, and get it loaded.

No. She knows she won't.

An ugly snarl followed by the sound of a hard impact with metal reaches her ears. She dares a glance over her shoulder and the decision to risk diving over the side of the building is made for her when she sees what's happening at the mouth of the alley.

She twists and lunges, a name leaving her lips.

"Stiles!"

 

Stiles is out of the car before he's even consciously aware of making the decision. The baseball bat that had been resting by his leg slides out after him and the teen grips it solidly before taking a step toward the raucous cacophony of gunshots.

That's as far as he gets, because Kali slips into view a few yards away, her fangs on display in a feral grin.

"Hello, Stiles," she says, cocking her head to one side. It's an extremely predatory movement.

"Kali," Stiles says, swallowing thickly. "No hard feelings about what happened at the hospital, right?"

Kali smirks. One of her wretched feet moves and she begins stalking toward him. That's the only answer he gets.

"Right. Okay, then," he says. Then he mutters to himself, "Play ball."

Stiles squeezes the wooden bat in his hand and preps to swing it. Kali is far too quick for his human reflexes and she'll duck under the weapon easily. Clever boy that he is, Stiles is well aware that that's exactly what's going to happen, so he feints the attack, carving a loose arc in the air for Kali to dodge. When Kali continues forward in a lunge aimed for Stiles, the teen sidesteps her and yanks open the driver's side door. The werewolf goes tumbling into the open space, sprawling across the seat, legs dangling out of the vehicle. Stiles abandons his bat to slam the door shut on her spine as hard as he can. It proves much more effective than a wooden baseball bat.

Kali screeches and struggles against him, clawed feet scraping across the concrete trying to find purchase. Stiles leans all of his weight into the door trying to keep her pinned for as long as possible. He can only hold her for a few seconds, however, and Kali is soon digging her toes into the pavement and pushing off the seat with all her strength.

It easily overpowers Stiles. He's flung back and hits the pavement solidly, his head bouncing once and man does that hurt.

Kali is on him in an instant, hand wrapped around his throat and red in her eyes. She lifts him by his neck with a great snarl, then slams him into the side of the Jeep so hard the metal crunches.

There's so little air getting to Stiles' lungs as Kali grips his throat and his head hurts so much. He uselessly scrabbles at Kali's hand, trying to pull her fingers away, but it's no use, no use… His blackening vision catches movement just before Kali speaks.

"Killing you is going to be the highlight of my evening," Kali says, face close to his and sneering.

"Think...think somebody might have...s'mething to say about that…" Stiles rasps out.

"Oh, yeah? Who?"

"Isaac."

 

The young werewolf is seeing stars after he hits the ground. Ennis threw him nearly the entire length of the alley and he's suffering for it. Something in his shoulder is knitting back together painfully and his clavicle is trying to rearrange itself back into place. He's winded and he shudders through the first couple of deep breaths he sucks in. Isaac takes a moment to let everything heal; to regain his breath, his vision, his bearings. When he can finally see straight again, his attention is immediately drawn by what's happening in front of Stiles' Jeep that stands only a few yards away from him. He watches as Stiles traps the female Alpha for a few too-short moments, then goes flying as she frees herself.

Isaac scrambles to his feet. The Alpha has Stiles by the throat as the beta starts wobbling unsteadily towards them. He sees Stiles' eyes catch on his approaching figure briefly and hears the threat she makes. Isaac just needs another few seconds to get to him. Stiles gives him exactly that.

Isaac's claws slash across Kali's back, the teen putting as much force behind it as he can muster. Kali yowls, back bowing, head thrown back. She immediately releases Stiles to backhand Isaac across the face. Isaac goes stumbling into the brick wall of the building Allison was previously perched atop. Kali stops just short of him and raises a wicked claw above her head in fury.

 

Chris rushes over to Stiles' wilted form. He turns the teen over and is relieved to see he's still conscious, even if he's blinking rapidly and clutching his head like someone hit him with a bowling ball. Helping him to sit up Chris inspects him for damage. His throat is purple and bruised, but nothing is crushed or broken.

"I'm all right," Stiles wheezes out. He sounds like a smoker of fifty years. "Help the others."

Stiles gestures over Chris' shoulder and Chris looks back. In a heartbeat he sees precisely where he's needed. Stiles recovers enough to dart over and retrieve his bat and Chris is on his feet and racing toward the action before the teen can say "go."

 

In a graceful show of acrobatics Allison leaps from the roof to the fire escape a few feet away, latching on with her hands and then using the momentum of her swing to hook her legs over another bar. She doesn't pause, tipping upside down as her legs anchor her to the metal ladder. She deftly pulls out her crossbow—her long bow and arrows lost to gravity during the leap—then shunts a bolt into the flight groove with a precision her father would be proud to see. Taking aim, her arrow flies and lodges in the female Alpha's ribs.

Kali snarls fiercely at the attack, abandoning her assault on Isaac so she can remove the arrow. Chris Argent is there when she does, jamming his electric baton into her abdomen and holding it there until her skin sizzles, the smell wafting, burnt and acrid, into the air. Kali crumples like a piece of wet cardboard.

Meanwhile, the Alpha twin hybrid drops down onto the fire escape with a thud so heavy it rattles the structure. Allison's eyes snap up to find it far too close for comfort and she moves to unlatch her legs so she can climb down.

But as soon as she does the creature jumps and shakes the fire escape again, this time jostling Allison badly enough that she almost slips and falls. Panic lights in Allison's eyes as she sees the satisfied smirk on the Alpha's face. It jumps and does it again. And again.

It takes everything she has just to hold on. Allison is going to fall to her death any second now, but someone calls her name.

She looks down to see Isaac directly below her, arms open. "Jump!" he yells.

Allison will look back and wonder at how easily she let herself drop from the fire escape into Isaac's arms, trusting the werewolf to catch her, to not to let her die. But the Alpha looming over Isaac's shoulder is probably a little bit more important right now.

"Turn!" Allison commands and Isaac does.

Allison's boots connect solidly with Ennis' chest. It hardly stalls him, but it distracts him long enough for Chris to swoop in and lay the shock-stick to him as well.

The hunter doesn't get the chance to zap him unconscious though, because the Alpha twins land behind him and knock him to the side.

"Dad!" Allison shouts as she hops out of Isaac's hold.

Isaac immediately engages Ennis again. Having learned from his mistakes, this time he plays an effective game of keep-away to avoid being thrown by him, even if he doesn't land any hits himself.

Allison rushes over to her father, lying on the ground. Chris is sitting up, clutching at his elbow, but he seems okay.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he tells her. Then the shape of the morphed Alpha appears over his daughter's shoulder. In alarm he shouts, "Allison, look out!"

She turns over her shoulder in time to see Stiles run up and crack his baseball bat across the Alpha's back. It splinters into a thousand tiny pieces and Stiles gapes at it as the twin-beast turns to stare at him wholly unimpressed.

"Uh…" Stiles stutters.

The Alpha rotates to face him fully, only to receive a back full of bullets courtesy Chris Argent. It howls in pain and in the next second splits apart into two separate werewolves. The bullet holes seem to disappear, the damage not retained by their individual forms.

Allison already has her crossbow on them and lands an arrow in the one on the left's leg. They seem to be a little weak after undoing their conjoined form, because he staggers and stumbles to his knees.

"Ethan!" the one who must be Aiden shouts and grabs his brother to begin dragging him away from the hunters' weapons.

He seems more interested in getting his injured twin out of the way than inflicting harm on the Argents or Stiles, so Allison dashes over to where her long bow and arrows landed, tucking her crossbow back behind her hip, then stringing an arrow and loosing it into Ennis' back before he has a chance to swipe at Isaac again.

"Stiles!" she calls.

Stiles looks over to her from the edge of the fight.

"The others," Allison says. "They haven't come out."

Stiles understands what she means. There's only one Alpha left inside the building so they must be trapped somehow to have not emerged by now.

"You sure?" Stiles asks, glancing at the Alphas in their various stages of injury: Kali still unconscious; Ennis trying to keep Isaac off him long enough to yank the arrow out of his back; the twins trying to recover from their transformation.

"I'm sure," Allison says, smiling softly, sure and strong. "Go."

So Stiles goes.

Through the rusty back door and into the dark, quiet bank.


	2. From You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not sure how long this is going to be >

It's been several minutes and Deucalion is still waxing on about how great killing your entire pack is, how invigorating sucking up their power like a black hole is. He tells Derek he'll never know anything quite like it and that once he's killed one, he'll want to kill them all. He tells him he has a choice to make.

"It's really quite simple, Derek," Deucalion drawls. "You pick one to kill tonight, you kill the rest later, you become part of my pack."

"And if I refuse?" Derek growls.

"We'll kill one of them anyway."

Derek's eyes go wide. So do Scott's for that matter.

"Now, I'll give you your options, Derek," Deucalion says with a flourish to the side.

Morrell comes into view at the mouth of the vault, holding a rope in one hand. She gives it a tug and Boyd stumbles into view. Derek is so relieved to see him alive, he almost forgets the situation they're in. The ropes are wrapped carefully around Boyd's wrist and flatten his arms to his torso. It's clear by the purple hue that they've been laced in wolf's bane powder. Boyd is sweaty and certainly not very healthy looking, but he's alive. His eyes travel to Derek and he looks nothing more than resigned and it breaks Derek's heart. But at least he's alive.

"Option one: your most recently turned beta," Deucalion says, practically grandstanding, the bastard. "Option two: your lovely little blonde beta."

When Morrell yanks on the rope trailing on the other side of Boyd, Erica is there to see. She's bound the same as Boyd and the rope in the middle connects them; to make it harder for them to run, Derek imagines with a gut-wrenching sickness. Erica looks furious—exhausted and worn—but devilish in her wrath, in her desire to get back at these people. Her eyes meet Derek's and they're just begging him to get her out of there so she can do just that. It's Erica through and through.

"And last but certainly not least," Deucalion intones as Morrell pulls on the slack leading away from Erica and Boyd, "Option number three, which I think you'll truly enjoy, Derek…"

Derek has no idea why Deucalion looks so smug. No idea who could possibly be on the other end of that rope.

There is absolutely nothing that could have prepared him for the sight of his baby sister, who he long thought dead, now a teenager, standing before him, alive and whole and just as he remembers her, if slightly more bitter. She meets his eyes and the expression on her face is stone-cold, giving nothing away. But it's her. It's his sister.

Derek's expression breaks completely. This can't be real, but there she is standing right there, looking more like Laura than she ever has. "Cora…" he whispers.

"That's right, Derek," Deucalion says. "Your long-lost, little sister. She is your final option. Now that you have your choices, I'll give you some time to consider who you will pick. Let's say, fifteen minutes. Choose wisely, Derek."

Deucalion smirks as Morrell moves to shut the door.

Derek panics. She's blocking Cora from him. His sister, his _family_ that he didn't even know he had left. She can't do this to him. He needs to touch her, to know she's real, to smell her Hale scent, and to hold her and have a piece of himself back by having her in his life again. And his betas. Boyd and Erica. He can't lose them again either. Every Alpha instinct in him is screaming to destroy everything in his path until he has all three of them back. But he can't even move. He's frozen by what's just happened; by the overwhelming reveal of Cora, alive once more; by the reassurance that his betas are alive followed by the renewed fear for their continued well-being; by the ultimatum that he was issued, that just as he's gotten them all back he'll have to lose one.

He senses Scott moving closer to him. The young wolf kneels in front of him and Derek doesn't remember dropping to his knees, but he must have, because here he is, on his knees on the ground.

Scott tentatively places a hand on his shoulder. "Dude. Is that really your sister?"

Derek nods.

"How?"

"I have no idea. I thought she was dead." _Like the rest of them_ , he need not remind himself.

"Guess not," Scott says, grimacing in sympathy at the shock Derek is experiencing.

Derek nods dumbly. He can't process any of this right now. He's just a shell, his body sitting useless in that vault, while the rest of him spirals out of control in a thousand directions.

After a long moment Scott eventually asks, "So…what are you gonna do?"

"I don't know..." Derek says. "I don't know."

 

Having studied the blueprints Stiles knows exactly where he's heading as he slinks down the gloomy, black corridors of the banks rear offices. He tries to be as quiet as he possibly can, breathing level and footsteps light, as useless as he knows it is. Deucalion will hear his thundering heartbeat before he even gets close to the vault.

Stiles' destination is the vault, because he can't think of another place they could plausibly be holding Derek and Scott and three other werewolves.

It doesn't make any sense. Even if Deucalion had shut them in the vault, they would have just been able to go back out the way they came. They hadn't though. And there are no signs of a fight, the bank eerily quiet throughout, so that's not what's currently occupying them. They _must_ be trapped. But how? Mountain ash comes to mind, but Deucalion can't use the stuff. He would have to have someone helping him...

"Stiles."

The voice comes out of nowhere from right behind him and Stiles first thought is _werewolf_ , but when he turns around he finds it's not a werewolf at all.

It's the guidance counselor.

"Ms. Morrell?" Stiles asks in disbelief. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"You need to leave, Stiles," she says, completely ignoring him.

"Uh. No."

"Stiles. Please. There's nothing you can do. Now go."

"What do you even know about what I can do? You're not even—" Just like that it all slots into place. "Oh my god, you're a druid. And you're helping the Alpha Pack. You're a bad guy."

Morrell seems unfazed by Stiles' accusation. All she says is, "It is my responsibility to assist the Alpha Pack, yes. But that is not what is important here. What's important is you getting out of here. _Now_."

"Your responsibility?" Stiles questions. Then the tiles really all fall into place and Stiles gets the full picture. "You're their _emissary_."

"Yes, Stiles," Morrell says, anger seeping in. "Now listen to me and get out of here."

"Why should I?" Stiles asks. "Like I should trust _you_?"

"No. You shouldn't," she says, point blank.

Which, okay then.

"But Deucalion has plans for this evening that don't involve killing you and you should keep it that way. You're lucky he thinks you're powerless, Stiles, or you would be at the top of his list."

Stiles frowns. "Why?"

"Because Deucalion doesn't like magic users. He doesn't trust them."

"And you're here because...?" Stiles asks pointedly.

Morrell sighs in that short, frustrated sort of way that Stiles is good at getting out of people. "Because there are circumstances beyond both of our control. Believe me, I am not safe with him and as soon as this mess is over, I'm sure he'll dispose of me."

"Wow. Harsh."

"Yes. Very. Do you see why you need to go?"

"Of course, I do. I'm not an idiot," Stiles says, matter-of-factly.

A look of relief flashes across Morrell's face, but quickly crashes and burns when Stiles opens his mouth again.

"But that doesn't mean I'm leaving. My mate and my best friend are in there. You understand what that means, don't you?"

Ms. Morrell's chest heaves in a silent sigh. "I do. I can't convince you to leave."

"You can't," Stiles agrees.

"Can I at least convince you not to use any magic? The longer Deucalion thinks you're powerless, the better."

Stiles nods in acquiescence. "Yeah. That's doable. No magic. Just good old-fashioned, Stilinski ingenuity," he says with a cheeky grin.

A smile almost succeeds in stretching the woman's lips. "Well. I guess that's all I can do here, then. Good luck, Stiles."

"Thanks," he says. Then after she's turned away. "Hey, Ms. Morrell."

She half-turns to look at him, eyebrows raised.

"Good luck to you, too."

She does smile, then, small and brittle as it may be. "Thank you, Stiles. Stay alive."

"That's the plan," Stiles says.

Now if only he had an actual plan.

 

Sitting in the hollow bank vault Derek has never felt so lost in his life. That's really saying something, considering loss has kind of gotten to be his specialty. But he has no idea what to do here.

He needs Stiles.

His fifteen minutes are almost up, he can feel his time running out, even though it seems like an eternity has already passed.

He doesn't know what to do. He has no solution for this mess. The inside of his head is just an empty drum, the beat of his quick pulse banging loudly all he can hear.

He needs _Stiles_.

The vault door creaks open.

God, no. Derek's not ready for this.

Deucalion is standing there, smiling amiably, hands on his cane.

"Time's up, Derek."

His betas, his sister, are paraded out in front of him again.

"Who shall it be?" Deucalion asks.

Derek looks at each of their faces and sees varying degrees of fear and anger and helplessness there.

Derek imagines his face looks exactly the same. His entire body buzzes with a panic so intense it roars in his ears like a swarm. The din of it drowns out even the thundering-hoofbeats sound of his own heart. His mind rings with one thought and one thought only that rises above the clamor.

 _He needs Stiles_.

 

Stiles can feel Derek's distress like it were his own. He's not sure what exactly is happening, but it's something to do with their bond which feels more like an active livewire than a soothing cord right now.

Being as careful and as quiet as he can Stiles finally reaches the open floor of the bank that has the vault tucked to one side. He darts behind a desk on the far side of the room and surveys the scene closely.

To his relief and joy Erica and Boyd stand there, alive and whole, albeit bound in ropes along with another girl that Stiles doesn't recognize at all, but assumes is their mysterious third werewolf.

The ropes are being held by none other than Ms. Morrell, who stands there, expressionless and disinterested in what's happening. Stiles almost rolls his eyes at her. He's not 100% sure what her deal is, but he's not really willing to cut her any slack here. Her attempt to warn him aside, she's kind of coming off as the bad guy he claimed her to be.

Deucalion is standing there, too, and Stiles feels a sharp spike of hatred pierce his stomach when he sees him.

More importantly, Derek and Scott are in the vault and they both look incredibly distraught and furious all at once. Stiles has no idea why they look that way, but it certainly explains why the bond is going crazy on Derek's end.

Most importantly, Stiles has no idea how he's going to get close enough to the vault to break the mountain ash line within it with Deucalion standing—Right. There.

The obvious answer comes to him as soon as he spots the inconspicuous door labeled stairs off in the corner.

 _Duh, Stiles_ , he thinks to himself and proceeds to sneak off toward the stairwell which is thankfully _not_ in the direction of the Alphas' Alpha.

In theory getting in the same way Derek and Scott had seemed pretty simple. Just go down the hole in the roof. Totally doable. Standing at the top of it and looking about fifteen feet down, Stiles is beginning to reconsider that theory.

He sighs heavily and considers his options. Which are basically: try to slide down the wall and minimize damage upon impact. Or fall.

Option numero uno it is. Stiles turns himself around and gets his hands slotted on the ledge as firmly as he can. He lowers his feet into the opening, planting them on the wall and relying on his upper body and core strength to keep his descent controlled. Inch by inch he lets his feet slide down the wall a little bit more. He's going to try to make this as graceful and painless as possible.

That all goes to hell, when a gunshot goes off, startling him badly enough his hand slips. The shot echoes raucously in the enclosed space and Stiles goes plummeting.


	3. From Danger

Deucalion is waiting patiently for Derek’s answer. Derek crosses his arms, sets his feet apart, and glares.

"I refuse," he says. "I refuse to kill any of my betas and I refuse to be a part of your pack. Now get out of Beacon Hills."

Derek decided to go with posturing for his plan. Not the greatest plan, but it's all he can manage, given the state of mind he's in right now. It's a familiar fallback, the indignant posturing. An old façade he wore for a very long time and only recently got to put away again.

Deucalion sighs. "I was afraid you'd feel that way, Derek. Are you sure there's nothing I can do to change your mind? I'd let you keep your mate, you know."

His heartbeat is perfectly level, but somehow Derek knows that is absolutely a lie. Deucalion would kill Stiles, just like the rest of them.

"No. This is not happening. Let all of them go, Deucalion."

"Do you really think you're in a position to be making demands like that? Come, Derek. Pick one. We both know you won't kill your sister, so it's really only between the two. Erica or Boyd. Which will it be?"

"Neither!" Derek roars.

Deucalion sighs again. "Fine. Have it your way. I think Cora is a good choice."

"No!" Derek shouts. He's right up against the barrier and his fists pound on the surface. Bright, blue beams of light flare up to meet him and he remains trapped. Helpless.

"Marin?" Deucalion calls.

Without further instruction Marin Morrell pulls out a gun from her rear waistband and blows a hole right through Cora's middle. She jerks and looks at Derek in shock.

Derek watches in horror as black burbles up from his sister's mouth. All he can do is look on from the other side of the barrier and silently wish for help.

Stiles crashes down noisily inside the space between the walls as if summoned.

"Ow…" he mumbles, body wadded up in a heap of limbs.

Derek hears Deucalion's command of "Shut them in," come from behind him, closely followed by the heavy, groaning creak of the door swinging toward him.

He yells. "Stiles! The mountain ash!"

Stiles perks up and sees the dark line just inside the lip of the vault. He clumsily tips himself out of the hole, head first and smacks a palm down. The ash goes scattering and Derek—well, Derek is finally free to inflict some damage.

The Alpha races to the entryway, hands wrapping around the edge of the door, just before it can close. On the other side Morrell's eyes have gone terror-wide. Derek faces her down, for a moment simply holding the door in place. But he and Morrell both know what's coming next.

Derek uses all of his strength to shove the door back. It sends Morrell flying and she hits the banister behind her with a solid _thwack_. She's not unconscious, but rather comes up in a crouch, and Derek is impressed. Or he would be if he was concerned with her at all. The gun she held is at his feet and Derek sends it skittering away, past the line of betas watching them, far from her reach.

Morrell's attention is on him, waiting for his next attack, but Derek's only focus is the betas, who are silently pleading with him. Silently hoping.

He's hoping, too. That Cora's limp body being propped up by Erica is still breathing. That his sister can still be saved. That his life still has a chance at including someone, who can actually be labeled as _family_.

He's only a few steps away from them, when a sharp rap to his chest stops him. He glances down at Deucalion's walking stick, then follows the path to its owner at the opposite end.

"Now, now, Derek. That would be cheating," the Alpha says.

 

Inside the vault Stiles is righting himself unsteadily. Scott is there at his side, steadying him and checking him for any injuries.

"You all right, dude? _No one_ was expecting you to fall down that hole," Scott says.

"That includes me," Stiles mutters, then shakes Scott off. "I'm fine. Who got shot?"

"Cora. She's outside the vault," Scott says, pointing in said direction. "It's bad."

"Well, let's get a move on then," Stiles says, already charging for the vault entrance.

Deucalion is busy with Derek and Morrell is without firearm, so Stiles waves Scott after him and they sneak along the outer wall to dart over to the betas. Stiles kneels beside the werewolf who must be Cora, where Erica has her head cradled in her lap, Boyd just over her shoulder and watching the exchange happening just a few feet away.

"Stiles," Erica whimpers. She's crying and Stiles cups her cheek.

"Sh, sh, sh. It's all right. I can fix this," Stiles tells her, then sets about doing just that.

Cora does not look well; the wound was central on her body and the black lines have spread over almost every inch of her. She's wheezing in small, tight breaths, but she's holding on. That's all Stiles needs from her.

Stiles shuffles a lighter and the wolf's bane powder that Scott had given him at Derek's loft courtesy of Deaton. He's never been more grateful for the vet's foresight and he just hopes the wolf's bane in Cora's system is generic enough that the stuff from Deaton will burn it out.

Stiles lights it up and waits for the blue smoke to puff into non-existence. Cora gives a pained whine and Stiles murmurs assurances of "it's okay" and "just hold on."

It takes a lot of willpower on Stiles' part to press the ash into her wound and to _keep pressing_ when she screams horribly.

After the deed is done, Stiles watches as it works its magic and carves out the very poison it once was. He's relieved to see that it's a close enough match to work at all.

Scott takes the time to cut everyone's ropes away, hands blistering slightly from the exposure to the powder. Erica and Boyd rub at their sore, puckered skin and wince. Stiles wishes he could afford the juice to give them a healing boost, but his work on Cora is probably going to come close to tapping him out for the evening.

After the black lines fade from Cora's skin, she relaxes, coughing a few times. Stiles helps her sit up and Erica steadies her from behind.

"Since when are you magic?" she asks with a watery grin and a sniffle.

"Since always, baby," Stiles says cheekily. “You just haven’t been paying attention.”

Turning his attention back to the task at hand he reaches into the same satchel that had held the mountain ash. He produces another small vial, full of crushed herbs.

"What's that?" Cora rasps, still too pale and sweaty from her injuries for Stiles' liking.

"An aid," Stiles replies. "Sage and comfrey specifically. Both accelerate cellular regeneration. And with a little magic push they do it fast, too. Trust me?"

She nods.

"Then here we go."

Stiles applies the powder to Cora's abdomen and she begins convulsing.

"Sorry, it's helping, I promise," Stiles says in a rush. Then more slowly, "Scott, take Cora back into the vault and once she's feeling better, our group outside could probably use some help."

"Gotcha," Scott says and lifts her up into a bridal carry. She's still twitching slightly, but it looks like it's slowing down at least.

Her wounds had been in her bloodstream, had been everywhere in her body and the sage/comfrey mixture has a bit of a kick to it, unlike the eucalyptus. Deaton had said, "It's sort of like hitting overdrive on the body's ability to heal itself. On werewolves, it's practically warp speed."

Stiles sees what he means.

"What about you?" Scott asks, glancing over at Derek and Deucalion.

Stiles glances over his shoulder in the opposite direction.

"Don't worry about me. I have an idea. Erica and Boyd, you with me?" Stiles asks and receives two fierce grins in return.

 

Derek's glare is in full force; he is not in the mood for anymore of Deucalion's games.

He says as much to the Alpha. "Is that what this is to you? A game?"

"Are we not all but players on a chessboard?" Deucalion asks.

Derek's lip curls and he bites out, "Except for the sick masterminds like you, who get to sit behind it. Isn't that right, Deucalion?"

Deucalion smirks slightly. "I must admit it is a better vantage point."

The horrendous scream of his sister distracts Derek for a moment and while he doesn't look away from Deucalion, his focus does shift to what's happening behind him. It appears Deucalion's does too, if the slight tilt of his head is any indication.

"It seems your sister has a chance," Deucalion says with an infuriating simper. He still believes Cora is damaged enough that she won't recover.

But then the smell of sage and something Derek doesn't recognize closely followed by Stiles’ rich earthy scent of healing hits the air and Deucalion's lips draw tight.

"I thought the little druid's spark had gone out…" Deucalion drawls, tone forced. Arrogance returning, he adds, "I guess I'll just have to try harder to kill your sister next time."

Derek outright snarls then. He brings a claw up, fully intending to strike the man, but Deucalion stops him with a speed that seems unnatural even for a supernatural creature. He shouldn't have expected any less from the Alpha of the Alphas.

"Do you really think you have a chance against me, Derek?" Deucalion asks, grip on Derek's wrist approaching bone-crushing.

"I think I don't really care as long I get to make you bleed," Derek bites out.

Scandalized, Deucalion asks, "What would your mate think to hear you say that with such reckless abandon?"

"I think I'd agree with him," Stiles says from out of nowhere.

Derek and Deucalion's heads both turn to where Stiles is now standing just a few paces back, Morrell's gun in his hand, barrel trained on Deucalion. Erica and Boyd are flanking him, eyes aglow and low rumbles in their chests.

Stiles continues, "I kind of just want to see you bleed, too."

Morrell rises to her feet and slinks over to stand behind Deucalion, her gaze firmly on the young witch as well. Stiles doesn't take his eyes off Deucalion, not even to flicker over to Derek.

"I'm holding the gun full of wolf's bane bullets by the way," Stiles says. "Just in case you didn't get that."

"Thank you for informing me, Stiles, but I "got" it just fine…" Deucalion says easily. He reaches up to remove his shades and reveal glowing red eyes. He smiles directly at Stiles. "I see just fine, when I want to."

Stiles doesn't falter, but his lips do twitch into an even tenser line. "Good for you," he responds. "Now let go of my man."

Deucalion smirks. "I don't think I will. After all what good will a gun do in the hands of someone who has no idea how to use it?"

"Did you forget I'm the son of a Sheriff? I learned my way around a gun a long time ago, so I didn't accidentally shoot someone. I may not get in any time at the range, but I am well aware of how to sight a target and pull a trigger without letting the recoil affect my aim. And I may not hit you square between the eyes like I'd like to, but I bet I'd hit you somewhere. And the wolf's bane would do the rest. So. How about you lower the cane and release Derek?"

It's a regular Mexican standoff. Neither side is willing to bend to the other. Deucalion's grip is strong on Derek's wrist and Stiles' hands are steady on the pistol. Morrell and Derek and the betas simply wait for something to happen.

Something happens all right.

Hunters lay siege to the bank.


	4. From This Mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me. 
> 
> :D

A barrage of machine gun fire razes the lobby of the bank, loud and sharp and sudden.

 _Everyone_ ducks, almost as one, dropping low to the ground and out of the rip tide of bullets that no one was expecting.

Derek dives off toward where Stiles and the betas are.

"Get back in the vault!" Stiles shouts.

Everyone makes a mad dash for the vault, trying to stay low and move fast, while Derek bodily covers Stiles. It's a heart-seizing moment of pure adrenaline and terror that compels them into the vault, the fear that they'll be struck down before they can get to safety like a living thing chasing them.

But they make it.

Derek goes in last after everyone else is safe inside and swings the heavy door shut behind them. Deucalion and Morrell have disappeared off in another direction outside the vault. That leaves them safe for at least the moment.

"What the hell is happening out there?" Stiles squawks.

Derek waves him off when he starts pulling out his vials. "No wolf's bane in them. We'll heal on our own." He also doesn't want Stiles expelling any more energy than he already has.

"Good," Stiles says, tucking his materials away again. "Figured they wouldn't waste wolf's bane bullets in _machine_ guns, but who knows with hunters, right? That is what they are, isn't it? Hunters?"

Derek nods. "Looks that way." He can hear them shouting orders from outside their temporary safe haven. From the sounds of it they're _experienced_ hunters.

Glancing around, even though he already knows they're not here, Derek asks, "Where are Scott and Cora?" He had noticed a distinct lack of the two wolves in the vault, alive or otherwise.

Stiles gestures back at their entry/exit point. "They went back up to see how the others are faring. That Cora girl should be fine."

"Good." Cupping Stiles' cheek, Derek asks him, "Are you tired?"

"A little. But I'll make it."

His words don't make Derek feel any better about how much magic Stiles just had to expend to heal his sister. But they don't have many options at this point.

"Okay. Let's go."

Boyd goes up first, then Erica. Derek boosts Stiles up and when Stiles scrambles to pull himself onto the roof, Boyd has mercy on him and yanks him up the rest of the way. Derek clears the distance in one smooth leap and then they're all on the roof just in time for the stairwell door to fly open.

Derek knocks Stiles flat and consequently out of the line of fire, then charges directly for the hunter aiming at them. The man manages to get a few shots off with his pistol, but none of them hit Derek, who is too fast for him. The werewolf takes great pleasure in bashing the hunter's nose in and knocking him back into the group lined up behind him, sending most of them toppling like dominoes. The doorway is only big enough for them to come through one at a time and when one of the hunters at the back, who didn't get knocked down, comes tramping up the steps all gung-ho, Derek takes him down just as easily as the first.

"Get down to the alley!" Derek shouts. "Protect Stiles!"

"I am not helpless, Derek Hale!" Stiles shouts even as Boyd is pulling him up off the ground and ushering him toward the fire escape ladder.

"You're also not—" Derek kicks a hunter square in the diaphragm, knocking all the wind out of him, "—bulletproof!"

"Okay, fine!" Stiles lets himself be manhandled to the edge of the roof, where Boyd precedes him in climbing onto the rickety ladder.

Derek feels relieved enough to fully throw himself into the fight before him once he knows Stiles is down the ladder and safe again.

The thing is though...

It's not much safer on the ground.

 

When someone, who is not him, starts firing guns in the alley, Chris Argent has to do a double take. A group of a dozen or so men, who are obviously well-trained hunters, is moving down the alley at a swift speed, firing into the fray Chris is smack-dab in the middle of. Argent has no idea what's happening for a brief moment, but it becomes clear what's going on rather quickly. It's an ambush.

What also becomes clear to Chris, when Isaac takes a hit, but not Allison, where she stands just beside him, is who sent them.

Chris gnashes his teeth against the hot flare of anger in his gut before heading toward the cluster of hunters. If he's right, they won't shoot him. He happens to be dead right and the man on the outskirts that he's heading for goes so far as to lower his weapon in favor of throwing a punch at Chris. He's an amateur compared to Chris Argent, however, and Chris blocks the swing easily. He grabs the hunter by the front of his shirt and slams him into the nearest wall.

"Why did Gerard send you?" Chris demands.

The hunter laughs weezily. "Isn't it obvious? He wants them dead. He wants them _all_ dead. Every last one of the _Hale Pack_. You should, too, for what they've done."

Chris doesn't flinch. "You should know you're following the orders of a deranged lunatic. This is wrong. It's just revenge. We have a code for reasons like this."

"Yeah? And what does the code say about the little witch who tore your sister apart?"

Chris grits his teeth and slams the man back into the brick once more. "That was in justifiable self-defense."

"Sure…" the man grins. "Or that's just what they told you."

Chris has had enough and he socks the man across the jaw, knocking him out cold. Turning  back to the fight, Chris sees that every werewolf on the field has been hit. He can't tell how many of them have taken wolf's bane bullets, but the damage is looking bad enough either way. The Alpha twins are actively trying to flee without engaging anyone, while the other two have torn into a couple of hunters, but it's obvious Ennis is trying to herd a limping Kali out of the conflict as well.

Allison is doing her best to keep the hunters off of Isaac, who lays unconscious behind her—numerous men have bolts sticking out of their legs—but there are too many directions for her to cover. An attacker is sneaking up from the rear right now.

Chris begins running toward them, but he knows he's not going to make it in time. He's not willing to kill the man and he doesn't have any other long range weapons besides his firearms. Even shouting a warning doesn't do any good, because Allison is too preoccupied with the three hunters in front of her to turn around. The enemy hunter is just steps away from Isaac's limp form, gun aimed at the back of the boy's skull.

Luckily, Scott drops down right on top of him before he can pull the trigger. The hunter is out like a light and Scott charges ahead to take on two of the other hunters antagonizing Allison.

A female Chris doesn't know follows Scott down from the roof. Her movements indicate she's also a werewolf. She darts over to Isaac and throws him over her shoulders at Scott's command, removing him from the danger by ducking in between buildings. Cora is apparently her name.

Cora Hale was Derek's younger sister and Chris doesn't know how it's possible, but looking at her features, he knows that's exactly who that must be. But that story can wait for another time. At this time Chris has a group of rogue hunters to deal with.

 

"Holy shit!" Stiles exclaims as soon as his feet hit the ground.

The alley is a downright battlefield. A cacophony of gunshots and growls rings out and echoes all around the long corridor. Hunters are being downed left and right, but more are pouring around the corner, having, Stiles suspects, rerouted from the interior of the bank.

Erica springs past him to join the action, taking a spot up beside Boyd, who is already tossing hunters through the air.

Stiles spots Chris tasing and beating the snot out of people. Allison is apparently out of arrows, but looks like she's handling herself pretty well via mad hand-to-hand combat skills. Scott is with them, disarming hunters at an alarming rate and doing his best to completely destroy each weapon he gets his hands on. He doesn't see any of the Alpha Pack or Isaac or the new girl.

"Stiles!" a voice calls and he turns to see the very girl's head poking out from behind the wall to his left. "Get over here!"

Stiles doesn't have to be told twice.

He skirts the edge of the building and flails around the corner to join Cora—and Isaac.

"Oh, man, he doesn't look good."

"He's been hit by several bullets, at least three of them wolf's bane," Cora tells him.

"Oh, holy—all right. Here we go again," Stiles says, yanking his pouch's contents out.

"No," Cora says, stopping him before he can uncap the wolf's bane. "That's the wrong kind."

"Well, how the hell am I supposed to get the right kind?" Stiles asks incredulously. He gestures behind him. "Have you seen out there?"

"Be right back," Cora says, apparently completely unphased by the warzone she's rushing into.

She's back in a matter of seconds with a mangled piece of metal in her hands that may have been a gun once. She rips it apart with her bare hands and digs out a bullet.

"Wow."

"Here," she opens up the bullet and hands it to Stiles.

"Yes, right," Stiles says, accepting it. He dumps the contents, lights it, thanks the stars Isaac is too unconscious to scream, then immediately worries about the fact that he's too unconscious to scream.

"Crap, not good," he mutters, then presses the healing excelerant into as many wounds as he can find. Isaac barely twitches.

"Uh," Stiles utters. "Is he gonna make it? I mean, I know I don't really like the guy, but I don't want him to die."

Cora leans in close and listens for...a heartbeat, Stiles assumes. She nods once and sits upright.

"He'll be fine. His heart rate is returning to normal. He had a lot of it in his system, but that wolf's bane wasn't very fast-acting, not like what I was shot with. This one was designed to work slowly. To make the victim suffer."

"Wow, real stand-up group of guys, these hunters," Stiles says sarcastically.

"I've seen worse," Cora says casually. "These guys have nothing on the Calaveras."

Stiles gapes at her. "Who the hell _are_ you?"

"Cora Hale," she says smugly. "Derek's sister. Nice to meet you."

" _What?!_ " Stiles explodes. "Derek's _sister?!_ But I thought everyone—How are you—What the _hell?_ "

"Long story."

"I bet," Stiles says flatly.

"Looks like Isaac is coming around," Cora says, completely derailing the conversation. Which is probably for the best, because, right, terrible group of hunters still attacking them.

Isaac groans a little as if to prove her point.

"We'll catch up later," Cora says, standing. "You can tell me all about how you hooked my brother."

"Uh," Stiles says, blushing in spite of himself.

Cora's grin is downright malicious. "You'll be okay here?"

"Yeah, yeah, go, go. Go sic 'em or whatever."

"That's cute, Stiles," Cora says over her shoulder, clearly meaning it's not. She vanishes around the corner.

Stiles sighs, slumping against the wall. Isaac twitches and moans a few times. He'll probably need another minute, he was pretty damn injured.

"You'll make it though," Stiles says to him, half to reassure himself, and half to affect the power in his herbs.

"Yes, he will," a voice says from the direction opposite Cora's departure.

Stiles whips his head to the side and sees Deucalion emerge from the shadows, cane missing from his hand and glasses gone from his face. His eyes are aglow, Alpha red, and Stiles' blood curdles.

The teen scrambles into a standing position. He nudges Isaac with a foot, hoping the were' will wake up like _now_ , but it does no good. The other teen remains unconscious and Stiles remains a sitting duck. He doesn't have any offensive aids and even if he did, he doesn't have the juice to power them. After two healings, he's pretty much tapped out. The adrenaline rush is probably the only thing keeping him going at this point.

"Thanks to your healings, both this boy and the young Hale will live tonight. Odd though, I didn't realize you still had any powers at your disposal," Deucalion says.

"Didn't I tell you not to underestimate me?" Stiles says and wishes his mouth actually had a physical lock and key, so he could maybe _shut it for once_.

Deucalion smiles indulgently. "That you did. I suppose I should have listened. But don't worry. I'm listening now."

"Then listen to this: Back off," Stiles demands. "Leave Beacon Hills and leave the Hale Pack alone."

"You know, Derek said almost the exact same thing to me. But I'm afraid I just can't do that, Stiles. I have far too much interest in this town and its supernatural occupants."

"Anyone ever tell you you sound like a super villain?"

"No. But I suppose it would come from someone, who fancies himself a hero."

"I'm not a hero," Stiles says immediately.

"Aren't you? You've saved two lives tonight, Stiles. I think that sounds rather heroic, don't you? But I wonder…" Deucalion begins walking toward him and Stiles tenses like cornered prey, "...how well you will do at saving others when you are too preoccupied with desperately trying to save yourself?"

Stiles bares his teeth. "Don't you fucking touch me."

"Tell me, Stiles," Deucalion drawls, studying his claws, "are you familiar with the phrase, "an eye for an eye"?"

Realization hits Stiles quick and horrifying.

"No...don't…"

Deucalion steps right over Isaac to get to Stiles.

"Come now, Stiles, it's only fair. You ruined my plans for this evening. I feel I must ruin yours. Don't worry. You told me not to underestimate you and I have _every_ confidence you'll find a way to heal yourself...eventually."

Deucalion raises his hand. There's  a flash of claws and then unbelievable pain. Stiles screams once, a sound that practically splits the earth.

His vision goes black.

Permanently.


	5. From Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gift to make up for what I've done: here's the next chapter brought to you ASAP!
> 
> Big thanks to my beta, monkeyloser, who got this turned around just as quickly as I got it written!

Derek has suffered an enormous amount of loss over the years. He should be used to feeling this. Like someone has ripped out his heart. Just reached right in and yanked it away like a faulty part. But something about this time makes the experience seem almost surreal.

When Derek hears Stiles scream, it's like the world around him stops. Everything turns to black and white and all the sound gets muted. Nothing gets through to Derek's senses. There is only the bond. Only Stiles at the other end of it. _Suffering_. _Hurting. Screaming._

Then there is nothing. Only the white static noise of their link being knocked offline, the tell-tale sign of Stiles' physical and magical shut-down.

The world erupts in red. Derek roars, unearthly and bone-rattling. Every person engaged in battle freezes. The handful of hunters left conscious on top of the bank watch with all-consuming horror as the Alpha werewolf in front of them loses all control.

"Retreat!" one of them shouts. " _Retreat!_ "

Hunters scatter everywhere, on the rooftop and on the ground. The Alpha Pack makes a hasty getaway, more than one of them sporting a smug and satisfied grin. The rest of the combatants are left to deal with Derek.

The Alpha leaps down to the alley like a missile fired, all taut lines of power and fury. He's wolfed out in his beta form and much to everyone's alarm, he appears to be slipping into the alpha form. Fur ripples across his forearms, his shirt gives way to expanding muscles. His face contorts and shifts and everyone stands frozen in shock for what seems like an eternity.

But then Derek is moving fast, faster than the human eye can track, toward the cove containing Stiles.

He slides into view and Isaac is white as a sheet where he sits holding Stiles' slack body to his chest, face lined with fear. Stiles' face is hidden in Isaac's shoulder, but Derek can _smell_ the blood.

"D-Derek…" Isaac whimpers.

Derek's mouth elongates, morphs into a snout, the rest of his shape follows and he's suddenly a giant bipedal wolf. When he roars again in vicious rage, Isaac yelps and curls into himself, around Stiles.

"Get out of there!" Cora yells from behind Derek. "He doesn't know who you are right now! Let go of Stiles and _run_!"

Isaac glances once between her and Derek and then does as he's told, laying Stiles down as gently as possible right as Derek charges toward him. Isaac dives out of the way of the rampaging werewolf just in time. The Alpha quickly loses interest in Isaac as he finally takes in Stiles' face.

A grisly set of gashes runs across Stiles' eyes; one above his brow, one spanning the bridge of his nose, and one directly over his eyelids. They don't appear to be deep, but blood pours from them, down over Stiles' pale features like a crimson waterfall over snow.

Derek's rage dissipates as suddenly as it came, replaced by a sorrow unknown to the common man. The beast bends over Stiles' maimed face, cradles his head carefully in deadly claws, and cries low and distressed.

"Derek."

He whips around to snarl at the meddler. It's Cora and his growl is not dampened in the slightest even at the appearance of his own sister.

"Derek," she says calmly. "He needs a hospital. You know that. He's human, remember? He needs doctors."

Derek's wolf rages at the thought of being separated from its mate. The growl that rips through Derek's throat lets everyone know just that.

"I know," Cora says sadly. "I know. But you've gotta let us help him, bro."

The rest of the group has gathered behind Cora, looking worse for wear, but still alive and still ready to take action against the Alpha if necessary. Derek looks at each of them, mistrust evident in his wild eyes.

"We're your pack. You can trust us."

Derek snarls directly at Chris and Allison, clearly arguing that point.

Chris pulls Allison back by the arm, says, "We'll go deal with the mess out here."

Allison looks over her shoulder reluctantly, but lets her father lead her away.

"Okay," Cora says. " _Now_ , we're your pack. And you can trust us. Please, Derek. We want to help. But you've gotta calm down and turn back into you again, okay? _Please_."

Derek's ruby eyes flick over Scott briefly, but land back on Cora, indicating that the wolf accepts Scott as pack, well enough to let him stay anyway. Derek studies his sister for a long moment. Finally, he looks back at Stiles' bloody face and after warring with himself for a long moment, he shifts back into his human shape. His expression is broken and wretchedly miserable. Cora and Scott come forward immediately.

"I've got him," Scott says. "He'll be all right." Then he lifts Derek's mate from his arms and takes him away. Derek watches them go, eyes lingering even after they've disappeared from sight.

Cora is there, wrapping her arms around her brother and offering what little comfort she can.

"Hey, it's okay, it's all right. He'll be okay."

"I should have been there…" Derek starts.

" _No_ ," Cora says firmly. "Don't start that. We were ambushed. There was nothing anyone could have done. Nothing."

"He's my mate, Cora…" Derek whispers, helpless and lost.

"I know," Cora soothes, petting Derek's back. "I know."

The three betas gather around Derek and Cora in a show of solidarity, of support. The thought is nice, but it does little to ease the ache in Derek's chest. His wolf sends up a lonely howl in his head that no one answers.

 

Waking up is not like waking up at all.

Stiles is instantly seized with panic. He feels trapped in a way he never has before, free-falling forever like Alice down the hole. There is only nothingness surrounding him, blank expanse after blank expanse. Stiles is almost positive that it's a nightmare, that he's not really awake at all. Only the jolt of Derek's hands on his skin gives him some sort of foothold in reality. Their bond is made active once more, and he must not have been out for very long, because the experience is nothing like the last time.

"Close your eyes, Stiles," Derek is telling him. "Just breathe. Close your eyes and breathe."

Stiles follows Derek's instructions. He takes deep, gulping breaths and manages to avert a full blown panic attack with the feel of Derek's strong hands grounding him. His eyes are squeezed shut tightly enough to cause his brow to furrow and it is this that catches his attention next. Something coarse scratches across his forehead as it moves and Stiles can only focus on figuring out what it is.

His hands fly up to touch it. It's gauze, he realizes. He follows it and finds it is wrapped all the way around his head, but it's only covering his eyes.

Just his eyes.

"Oh, god…" he whispers.

"Stiles," Derek cautions.

But the teen is already opening his eyes beneath the bandages. He's assaulted with an array of colors, of impressions of light and snatches of shape. But the flashes settle and then he sees nothing.

"He blinded me," Stiles says, aghast. "That bastard _blinded_ me."

Derek's hand slides into his and he startles, because he didn't see it coming. He didn't see _anything_.

"We'll find a way to fix it," Derek says softly.

Stiles remembers Deucalion's words to him. _Eventually_ he had said.

"Eventually," Stiles repeats.

"Hey," Derek's thumb tilts Stiles' chin up and he startles at that, too. "Don't think like that."

"It's exactly how he wants me to think."

"All the more reason not to."

"Guess so." Stiles smiles sarcastically. He can feel a foreign sensation on his skin, as he moves his face into expression after expression, a slight pull, odd though not painful. Nothing hurts and he doesn't know if it's because of morphine or Derek; he doesn't really care either way. He has a pretty good guess as to what's causing the tugging on his skin though. "How many stitches this time?"

"Forty-one. Fourteen or so in each of the three gashes."

Stiles nods, absorbing the information.  _Christ, that's a lot._ "How long have I been out?"

"About twenty-four hours. It's just after eight o'clock."

"How did my dad take it?"

"Not well."

"Figured. Everyone's okay? Everyone's alive?"

"Yes. Everyone got out just fine."

"What happened with the hunters?"

"They fled when I took on my alpha form."

"Alpha form?"

"I was...worried."

"You big softie," Stiles says, smiling, and angles his head for a kiss. Derek takes the hint and presses a light kiss on his lips. Stiles manages not to startle this time.

When he pulls away, Derek says, "Everyone will want to see you."

"Yeah," Stiles sighs. "Later. Not now. I'm…"

"Yeah," Derek says, understanding that Stiles needs time to come to terms with his new condition. "Tomorrow, then."

Stiles nods, absentmindedly. He's sort of in shock right now. Some part of him doesn't believe this is actually real. He suspects that when that part finally does accept this as reality, he'll cry and freak out then. But for now, he can't quite wrap his mind around this. Can't help but think that things will be normal when he wakes up tomorrow.

But they won't.

He asks, "What happens now?"

Derek answers, "We move forward. We get through this."

"How?" Stiles whispers.

"Together," Derek says, giving Stiles' hand a squeeze. "As long as we're together, we can get through anything."

"Yeah," Stiles' agrees, letting out a deep breath. Then he smiles. "Together."

 

In the dead of the night Stiles disappears from his hospital room without a trace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> http://mommymuffin.tumblr.com/


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